Thursday, May 19, 2005

On my way to Australia

Who knew the plane lands in Honolulu?
We are told to wait at a holding gate
for one hour. Of course, I sneak off.
I have to repair the damage that happened
at the US customs site for homeland
security in Vancouver. I wasnt listening
or aware I was visiting the US. I live
in Toronto but carry a British passport.
It's a long long story, I said. The guy
looked like he had the time. This is
what he wanted: my left index finger
pressed on a black window that lit up
red. Right, he said. I thought he meant
he was done. Now your right finger.
As I'm doing this he waved a webcam
at me, and took a picture. That was the
damage that Honolulu was going to fix.
I found a courtyard, open to the sky.
A moist, sultry night.
Huge palm trees and a little memorial
draped with those garlands, strung on
yellow ribbons. The garlands are purple
and white, like sushi squid. I have
the enRoute magazine, and there's a photo
of the Ottawa poet David O'Meara in
there. I tear out his picture and place
it against the garlands. I want Dave to
know I left him in Honolulu. Cheers, Dave.


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